I am rather absent-minded; and when the girl showed me to the room, I felt the driver had put me down at the wrong number. I had been too hurried to notice it, and had evidently come to a house where a funeral company had met. The girl had that "don't-make-a-noise" sort of air about her. She pointed, Quaker-like, to where I was to deposit my hat, and then opened the room door quietly. I entered on tip-toe, and was confirmed in my surmise. The company were standing round the room looking at the carpet. I noticed a vacant place, and took it, placing my hands at my back like the others, and helping to do the carpet-staring, all the time wondering what I should do. I should explain my mistake and retire, but I did not like to break the silence. My thoughts were broken by a friend coming over and shaking hands, and I was glad to recognise him, as I knew he was to be at the marriage too. "What are we to do?" I asked, hoping he would see a way out of the difficulty and the house. "You should shake hands with the hostess," he said, pointing at my back. I turned and saw a group of ladies, and was glad to find I was in the right house. The bride was just expected in, hence the silence. She came in leaning on her father's arm, looking very pale, and trembling as if she was being led to execution; but her father did not seem to care much, and I noticed as he passed that his tie was creeping up the back of his head, but had been brought to a halt by his ears. I sympathised with him, as I often wear mine there. I envy men who are always tidy about the neck, and have bought every patent I have seen, but can't keep my ties in subjection. The bow of a dress-tie will not remain in the centre, but if I allow it to nestle under my ear it will remain there all right. The ladies tell me I should get a wife, but I shall try some more patents first. I have been asked by ladies several times since the marriage what the bride had on, and they seem annoyed that all I can remember is that she wore a large white bouquet. That tie occupied too much of my attention, with the maker's name on a label just over the bump of philo-progenitiveness.